


The Love Song of Martin K. Blackwood

by stardust_in_the_wind



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canon-Typical Worms, Co-workers, Disaster Gays, Getting Together, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Idiots in Love, Is it projection if martin also loves keats?, J. Alfred Prufrock References, M/M, Martin Blackwood's Poetry, Mutual Pining, Office, basically sasha and tim plot to get them together, by which i mean martin never finds gertrude's body, implied compulsion, is tea a love language? it is now, kind of office romance, poetry because i'm Pretentious like that, set in S1, veeery slight canon divergence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:08:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22675378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardust_in_the_wind/pseuds/stardust_in_the_wind
Summary: Jon and Martin eventually get together, with a little help from Tim and Sasha, T. S. Eliot, and some worms.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 69
Kudos: 318





	1. Let Us Go Then, You And I

**Author's Note:**

> Based off [this post](https://rendherring.tumblr.com/post/190692968038/cant-stop-thinking-about-tim-sasha-martin-and) by @rendherring on tumblr!

_Let us go then, you and I,_

_When the evening is spread out against the sky_

_Like a patient etherised upon a table;_

_Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,_

_The muttering retreats_

_Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels_

_And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:_

_Streets that follow like a tedious argument_

_Of insidious intent_

_To lead you to an overwhelming question..._

_Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”_

_Let us go and make our visit._

_In the room the women come and go_

_Talking of Michelangelo._

It’s 10am, Sasha’s halfway through a tall stack of police reports, and Jon is complaining about Martin. Again. This is the third time today, in fact. 

“How many times have I _told_ you, related police reports get paperclipped in front of a statement, _not_ behind it?” Jon brandishes some papers at Martin, who flinches.

Tim’s abandoned whatever he was supposed to be doing, but neither Jon nor Martin seem to notice Sasha and Tim openly watching them and trading several exasperated looks. Martin blushes and stutters out an apology, and Jon tells him to just _get it right_ next time. Martin nods. Jon goes back to his office to do God-knows-what. 

Martin just stands there for a minute after Jon’s left. Sasha really hopes he doesn’t start to cry, and thankfully he doesn’t, just turns around and asks if either of them would like some tea.

She blinks slowly, then turns to look at Tim, who seems just as confused. 

"No, thanks?” she answers, cautiously.

“Uh… yeah, I’m good,” says Tim, eyebrows furrowed. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, used to it by now,” Martin brushes him off with a laugh and heads toward the teakettle.

“He’s not fine,” Sasha says as soon as Martin’s out of earshot. 

“Nope,” agrees Tim. “Why does Jon hate him so much?”

Sasha shrugs. “Jon hates everyone, but Martin more than most.”

“I just feel bad for him, you know? He doesn’t deserve it, he’s not _that_ incompetent.”

At the sound of Martin’s approaching footsteps they fall silent. He’s holding two steaming mugs, one for him and the other for… whom? _Jon?_

Their suspicions are confirmed when Martin goes down the corridor toward Jon’s office.

“That’s weird, right?” Sasha asks eventually, breaking the silence.

“No, yeah, that’s weird,” Tim confirms. “ _What_ is going on between those two?”

“No clue,” says Sasha. “We should probably intervene before it escalates, though. Otherwise Elias will get involved, and that _won’t_ be pretty.” 

“Go out after work, maybe?” Tim proposes.

“You want to bring Jon and Martin to a _pub_?” Sasha asks, incredulous.

“Yeah, get them out of the office, and if that doesn’t work, get them both drunk enough that they work out their problems.”

“If that’s how you’ve been solving your problems it’s a _wonder_ you’re still functioning.”

“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it!” Tim grins, and Sasha can’t help but laugh, even if she is a little concerned. 

“Alright, but if this doesn’t work we’re doing something less _absolutely crazy_.”

“You should ask Jon. He likes you best, and if I ask he’ll think I’m trying to pull.”

“And Martin won’t?”

Tim gasps in mock outrage. “I’ll have you know Martin once told me I’m a good guy!”

“He was probably just being nice,” Sasha jabs back. 

“Maybe, but I can still convince him. Tomorrow, should we say? Friday night drinks are always fun.”

“Yeah, let’s do that. Though I think these are going to be the least fun Friday night drinks I’ve ever had.”

*****

Jon is quite taken aback when Sasha asks if he has plans on Friday night. He doesn’t, of course, but that’s beside the point. 

“Not really, why?”

“I was wondering if you might like to go out for drinks after work. Not like that!” she exclaims, after seeing the expression of panic on his face. “Just as friends.”

Jon considers this for a moment. Surely Sasha’s got people rather than her boss to be spending a Friday night with. “Are you sure?” he asks, somewhere between confusion and suspicion. 

“Course, why would I be asking if I wasn’t?”

Jon trusts Sasha the most out of the archival assistants, though he’d never say so, and he’s _pretty_ sure she’s not going to try anything weird. So he accepts, if begrudgingly. 

*****

Martin curses himself for the umpteenth time as he walks with Tim towards the pub. Why did he let himself get talked into this? Last time he’d been in a pub he’d just watched awkwardly as his friends embarrassed themselves completely and then dragged them home. But Tim didn’t let up, and Martin’s a bit of a pushover. So here they are.

Sasha’s not arrived yet, so Tim and Martin find a table. He glances at the door every few minutes or so while chatting with Tim. When Sasha does arrive, though, the blood drains from Martin’s face, because she’s not alone. Jon’s with her.

“Martin? Martin, are you okay?” Tim is asking, too loudly.

“You-what-why didn’t you say Jon was coming?” he splutters. 

“Hey, it’s gonna be fine, he can’t complain about anything here,” Tim says reassuringly. “Are you afraid he’s going to critique your drink order?”

Martin doesn’t laugh at the joke. He _can’t_ tell Tim why he’s in such a state, so he settles for looking as panicked as possible in the hopes that Tim will let him leave. 

“Him?! Oh Martin, _really_?” Tim asks, too loudly again, and Martin curses himself yet again.

“Please, _please_ , don’t say anything, it’s really nothing, I’ll get ove-”

“Of course I’m not going to say anything, don’t worry, though that’s… really embarrassing for you,” Tim cuts off his rambling. “Do you love repression, are you really this English?”

“I… I guess?” Martin isn’t really sure what Tim’s getting at, and it’s only making him more nervous.

“Listen,” Tim says conspiratorially, “let me make you a Grindr profile and I will have you _swimming_ in cock.”

Martin’s blushing furiously, and of course that’s the moment Jon and Sasha reach the table. Jon gives Martin such a withering look that it’s all he can do not to bury his face in his hands. 

“...Right,” says Sasha. “I’m going to get drinks for me and Jon.”

*****

Martin thinks this pub visit might top his last in terms of sheer awkwardness. Tim and Sasha, to their credit, are valiantly pretending everything is fine and they’re just co-workers having a fun night out. Jon is staring stonily at the table as if it’s personally offended him somehow, and has only said anything in response to a direct question. 

He supposes he should try to join in Sasha and Tim’s conversation. They’re discussing their favorite books. He’d never have pegged Tim as the sort to enjoy _Wuthering Heights_. At what seems like an appropriate pause in the conversation, he mentions that he likes reading poetry, particularly Keats. 

Sasha and Tim don’t make fun of him like he’d been scared of, but Jon immediately chimes in with some comment about how of course Martin would be the sort to like Keats, who writes with entirely too much passion about absolutely nothing of consequence. Because of course Jon would be the sort to say something like that. 

“I’ll go get the next round,” he says quietly, standing up. 

Sasha shoots Tim a pointed look.

“Uh, I’m gonna go… help him with that.” Tim quickly follows Martin to the bar, leaving just Jon and Sasha at the table.

“Right, so what is it that you have against Martin?” she demands. 

“I don’t know what you mean. I don’t have a problem with _Martin_ , I have a problem with his _work._ It isn’t personal.” 

“I didn’t say it was personal.”

“Good, because it isn’t.”

“Right... So you–” Sasha doesn’t really know where to go from here, since Jon seems dead set against actually telling her anything. 

“It’s just that... he laughs when he’s nervous! And he organizes his notes by color tabs! He has to duck to make it under the door into Artifact Storage, and once I saw him eat pizza with a fork. Would you trust a person who eats pizza with a fork with _your_ vital research? And he does this _thing_ with his mouth when he’s happy–”

“Smiles?”

“Yes! I just don’t think–I don’t think that sort of thing should be happening… allowed. From him. It’s… unprofessional,” Jon trails off. 

Sasha has to stop herself from laughing and just nods, completely deadpan. And it’s then that Jon realizes what he’s confessed. 

“I… uh. I have to go!” he says too loudly, almost hitting himself in the face with his phone. “I’ve got an important call. Terribly sorry.” He scrambles out of his chair and practically runs out of the pub. Thankfully, Sasha doesn’t try to stop him.

Tim returns to the table alone. “Where’s Jon?”

“Where’s _Martin_?”

“You’re not gonna believe this. He pretended to get a phone call from his landlord, but he didn’t hide the screen well enough. It was just a Duolingo lesson,” Tim chuckles. 

Sasha bursts out laughing at that. “You know, Jon did the exact same thing!”

“What? Why?!”

“I asked him what is it he’s got against Martin, and he said, ‘Oh, it’s not personal, he’s just incompetent,’ but then went on a rant about things like the way Martin color-codes his notes and, God forbid, _smiles_.” 

Tim’s eyebrows are almost at his hairline. “Are you saying Jon has a _crush_?”

“Yeah, only he doesn’t know how to handle it so he’s just being extra rude. I swear he can be such an idiot sometimes.”

“You know, Martin likes Jon too, though God knows why. Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

Sasha sighs. “Unfortunately, yes. So how are we going to do it?”


	2. For I Have Known Them All Already

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim and Sasha meddle a bit, and Martin is very confused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm in no way a poet, but I did my best with Martin's poem at the end. Let me know what you think in the comments

_Do I dare_

_Disturb the universe?_

_In a minute there is time_

_For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse._

_For I have known them all already, known them all:_

_Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,_

_I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;_

_I know the voices dying with a dying fall_

_Beneath the music from a farther room._

_So how should I presume?_

_And I have known the eyes already, known them all—_

_The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,_

_And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,_

_When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,_

_Then how should I begin_

_To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?_

_And how should I presume?_

“ _No_ , we’re not going to lock them in a closet, Tim!”

“Alright, we’ll save that one for later then.”

Sasha sighs. “Why can’t we just _tell_ them?”

“What, just go up to them and say, ‘You both have giant repressed crushes on each other’?”

“Well, obviously not like _that_. Just talk to one of them first, tell them there’s an easy fix for this whole awkward situation, and let them figure it out themselves.”

“You really think that’s gonna work?”

“I think we should at least try it before _locking them in a closet_ ,” Sasha admonishes. 

“Fair enough. We should probably start with Martin, though.”

“Yeah, he won’t do anything _really_ stupid.”

“What do you mean?” Tim asks. 

“I don’t know, just… I don’t want Jon to hold it over his head or something,” Sasha says, and Tim pulls a face. “I don’t think he would, but it’s… possible.”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

“So, do you want to do it or should I?” 

“I think Martin’s had quite enough of me after the pub. Maybe offering to make him a Grindr profile was a bit much.”

“You did _what_?”

*****

Martin is hidden behind a stack of boxes of statements to be reorganized, and he barely conceals his slight startle when Sasha calls his name. 

“Sorry! Was there something you needed?”

“No, just wanted to talk if you’ve got a minute?” 

“Sure, just let me…” Martin quickly unstacks a few of the boxes so they can see each other.

“It’s about Jon,” she begins, and Martin immediately wishes he still had the stack of boxes to hide behind. He does his best to feign nonchalance.

“Oh, what about him?”

“You know how he…” Sasha hesitates. “He’s really rude to you all the time?”

Martin launches into the usual spiel about how it’s fine, _really_ , but Sasha cuts him off. “No, no, Martin, it’s not your fault at all, it’s just that Jon doesn’t properly know how to deal with his feelings.”

He blinks. “What?”

Maybe a more direct approach will work better. “Jon doesn’t hate you. He actually _really likes_ you and is just terrible at showing it.”

There’s a long silence, during which Martin concludes that this has to be some kind of joke. “Did Tim put you up to this?”

To her credit, Sasha looks genuinely shocked. “What? _No_ , why would you think that?”

“Sorry, it’s just… Well… how do you know it’s _that_ and he doesn’t just really hate me?”

“At the pub, after you left, I asked him what is it he’s got against you and he didn’t have one single good reason. Just kept going on about how you use color tabs and laugh when you’re nervous.”

“That still doesn’t mean he…” 

“Just _trust me_ on this, then,” Sasha presses. 

Martin smiles sadly. “Thanks, for trying to help. But I don’t think it’s going to work out that way.”

*****

“How’d it go?” Tim asks when Sasha returns to her desk. 

“Not well. He didn’t believe me, asked if you’d put me up to it.”

“I would never!” exclaims Tim. 

“I know, I know. I told him you didn’t.”

“Well, what do we do now?”

“I don’t know, but having Martin initiate anything is out.”

“So that means we have to go through Jon.”

“I mean, we could try the same thing, just telling him he and Martin both have feelings for each other and hoping they sort it out themselves.”

“Jon won’t even admit he likes Martin, let alone try and _ask him out_.”

“What do you suggest then?” Sasha asks. 

“Something that would force Jon to admit he likes Martin. We could try making him jealous?”

“What, like talking about Martin’s love life or something?”

“Yeah, let’s start with that, but if it doesn’t work, we might have to make it worse.”

“I’m not flirting with Martin in the office,” Sasha says. 

“It would only be in front of Jon!”

Sasha gives Tim an unimpressed look.

“ _Fine_ , I’ll do it. But then _you_ have to talk to Jon about Martin’s love life.”

“Done.”

“Sasha?” Jon calls from his office. “Did you have any more information about the Chiswick library case?”

Tim raises his eyebrows and Sasha shoots him a glare before grabbing a few sheets of paper. “Yeah, be right there!”

There’s a mug on the corner of Jon’s desk, steam still rising from it in gentle wisps. “I thought you didn’t like tea,” Sasha says. 

“What? Oh.” Jon looks at the mug as if just noticing it’s there. “Martin made it. Caffeine is caffeine.” It takes Sasha a serious effort not to roll her eyes at Jon’s utter _obliviousness_. And he thinks Martin is the stupid one.

“Well, he’s really thoughtful like that.”

Jon’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. “...Yes, I suppose.”

“I, uh…” Sasha isn’t exactly sure how to continue in this vein. Actually, she has _no idea_ what she’s doing and scrambles for something to say. “Whoever snatches him up is going to be… quite lucky.”

Jon only gets more confused, and an awkward silence settles over them. 

“Are you alright?” he eventually asks.

“Yeah! Totally fine!” Sasha responds, too fast. “Here’s the stuff you wanted, I’m just gonna…” She quickly backs out of the office, letting out a groan as soon as she’s out of earshot. 

*****

Tim starts acting… weird. It’s small things, at least at first, but Martin notices. The way he smiles more than usual. Or makes eye contact for just a bit too long.

“Did you do something to your hair?” he asks one morning, even though Martin’s pretty sure his hair looks exactly the same as it did yesterday. 

He runs a hand through it. “No?”

“Oh, well, it looks nice.”

“Thanks,” Martin says, still confused. “Uh, yours too.” He glances over at Sasha as if to ask what Tim’s doing, but she only shrugs. 

He brings Martin tea, pressing the mug into his hands. When Martin stutters out a thank-you, he says not to mention it. 

Soon Tim’s giving Martin the occasional quick pat on the arm when they talk, or touching Martin’s hand when he passes him something. When Jon asks for someone to investigate a place mentioned in a statement, he slings an arm around Martin’s shoulders and announces that they’ve got it.

Jon scrutinizes them both for a moment. “I need to speak to Martin first. In my office.” Surely the feeling that something is _wrong_ simply comes from Martin’s scared expression. This is purely out of co-workerly concern, he tells himself. Martin, meanwhile, resignedly wonders what he’s done wrong this time as he and Jon walk down the corridor. 

“I think this could be it!” Tim exclaims to Sasha, once he hears the door of Jon’s office click shut.

“God, I hope so.”

*****

“As you probably know, we don’t have an HR department, so I don’t really know _where_ exactly the papers would go. However, you can still file a harassment complaint if you’d like,” Jon says, uncharacteristically business-like. 

“Why would I want to do that?” Martin asks, bewildered. 

Jon looks at him, down at his desk, then back up. “Tim’s been… much friendlier with you lately, and you seemed... quite uncomfortable, just then.”

“What, when he volunteered us? Oh, no, I was just startled is all,” Martin explains quickly. “Really, nothing happened.”

“Are you absolutely sure?”

“Quite sure, thanks.”

“Well…” Jon pauses for a moment. “If you ever need to, all you have to do is ask.”

Martin nods and makes for the door. “Okay, I will, uh, keep that in mind.” 

*****

“What was that about?” Tim asks casually as they walk towards the tube station. 

“He… um.” Martin debates whether or not to tell him. Nothing was filed, so it should be fine, right? “He wanted to know if I wanted to file a harassment complaint.”

Tim stops in his tracks. “He _what_?”

“I didn’t!” Martin exclaims, trying to placate the expected anger, but Tim just sighs.

“Thanks for that, I guess, but…”

“What?”

“Never mind, sorry.”

Absurdly, _that’s_ what pushes Martin to the end of his patience. “Actually, I _do_ want to know. Why are you acting so _weird_ all of a sudden?” he asks, somewhat forcefully.

“Because you and Jon are both _idiots_ , that’s why. Sasha told you, right, you both like each other but are too damn repressed to do anything about it,” Tim bursts out. 

“What does that have to do with anything?” Martin demands.

“We’re trying to _help_ you. The point was to make Jon jealous, so he’d finally realize what everyone else already knows. We thought he took you back there to ask you out, for God’s sake. A _harassment complaint_?!”

They walk in silence for a while. “I’m sorry,” Martin eventually says. 

“You don’t have to apologize, it’s okay.”

“No, really, you didn’t have to do anything, it’s very sweet of you both. So… thanks, but I think it might be better if you stopped, before anything serious happens.”

“Alright. Message received. But are _you_ going to talk to him?”

Martin’s eyes are on the sidewalk. “No.”

*****

**_Spider, by Martin K. Blackwood_ **

_No one takes notice of flies,_

_Unless it’s to shoo them away,_

_Swatting in irritation at their ever-present drone._

_No one takes notice of flies,_

_Except spiders._

_You’re a strange spider, though,_

_Your web coated in barbs instead of sugary stickiness._

_I’m caught in it anyway,_

_Impaled on your prickly threads._

_You don’t seem to notice._

_Eight eyes, and not one will look at me._

_Maybe that’s for the best._

_After all, there’s a reason spiders notice flies._


	3. And Would It Have Been Worth It, After All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's worm time!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for MAG 22 Colony, MAG 26 A Distortion, and MAG 39 Infestation  
> Some dialogue is taken from MAG 39 Infestation  
> 

_Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,_

_Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?_

_But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,_

_Though I have seen my head (grown slightly bald) brought in upon a platter,_

_I am no prophet — and here’s no great matter;_

_I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,_

_And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,_

_And in short, I was afraid._

_..._

_And would it have been worth it, after all,_

_Would it have been worth while,_

_After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,_

_After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor—_

_And this, and so much more?—_

_It is impossible to say just what I mean!_

_But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:_

_Would it have been worth while_

_If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,_

_And turning toward the window, should say:_

_“That is not it at all,_

_That is not what I meant, at all.”_

Martin is trapped in his flat. No phone, no Internet, no electricity. Not that he would actually call anyone, except maybe the Institute, since Jane Prentiss and the worms are waiting right outside. Somehow he didn’t think an exterminator would fare very well against them. At least he doesn’t have to speak to Tim or Jon after the whole harassment complaint thing. 

He eats a lot of ready meals, and when those run out, whatever random tinned foods he can find in the kitchen. Why does he have so many tins of peaches? When did he get them?

He reads, mostly. He finishes the few print books he’s got within five days, so he just rereads them and rereads them again. It’s a good distraction from the fact that he might well die here. 

But he doesn’t. Martin can’t believe his luck when Jane Prentiss and her worms just… go away. After the initial shock of finally getting out of his flat, he goes to the only place he can – the Institute. 

Jon takes his statement. That in itself isn’t surprising, but then he offers Martin a spare room at the Archives. A spare room that _Jon_ would normally use. Martin didn’t even expect Jon to take him seriously, let alone show real concerns for his safety. He isn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth, though, so he accepts without asking too many questions. 

Jon spends half an hour trying to convince Elias to tighten security before he says he’ll "look into it" with that hard tone that means that’s all Jon is getting. Better than nothing, he supposes, although he’s pretty sure nothing will come of it.

He works late, ignoring how the clock ticks past six, seven, eight, nine, ten, and he doesn’t know if his eyes are burning from tiredness or the dust coating the tome in front of him. Everyone else has long since left; even Martin’s gone to bed, but Jon only leaves when he can’t keep his eyes open any more.

It’s force of habit that has him opening the door to the spare room, but he stops in his tracks when he sees Martin in the cot, his breathing too even for him to be awake, a blanket haphazardly pulled over him. Slowly, carefully, so as not to wake him up, Jon approaches the cot and straightens the blanket so Martin’s fully covered. It feels like a violation, somehow, something he shouldn’t be doing. Which is true, he thinks, since he’d never do this if Martin were awake. Jon quickly pulls away and leaves, taking care to shut the door quietly behind him.

*****

The door to a humidity-controlled room has to be heavy, which means it makes a fair bit of noise when opening or closing, and Martin is a light sleeper. Through the haze of sleep he just manages to make out a figure walking towards him and scrabbles under the pillow for the knife he’s taken to keeping there.

“Who’s there?” he demands, sounding a lot more confident than he feels.

The figure immediately puts its hands up in surrender. “It’s me, Sasha!”

Martin releases a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “You scared the hell out of me.”

“Sorry, I just...” she trails off, groping along the wall for the light switch. “I didn’t know where else to go.” When she flicks on the light, Martin sees that she’s bleeding, rather profusely.

“Oh, God, what happened?” he asks, moving closer. 

“Worm got me,” she says, almost too calm. Is that a sign of shock? “Don’t worry, he pulled it out.” Martin figures he should probably try and prevent her losing even more blood before asking who _he_ is. 

“Right, uh, I’m just going to get a first-aid kit, you sit down,” he says, as gently as he can, leading her to the cot. He makes relatively quick work of disinfecting and bandaging the cut, but when he’s finished Sasha looks so tired that instead of asking her anything about the worms, Martin just asks if she wants to sleep for a bit. She nods gratefully. 

In the morning Jon takes her statement while Martin cleans her blood from the sheets. 

The worms become almost normal. Tim crushes one under his shoe on the way back from the library. Sasha smacks a stapler into one oozing up the side of her desk. Aside from the weekly statements he records, Jon has them scouring the library, police reports, hospital records, for any information on Jane Prentiss, but so far they’ve found nothing of use. All they can do is stockpile fire extinguishers (at least Elias bought some extra), kill any worms they see, and hope.

Jon works even later than usual, the bags under his eyes growing heavier by the day. Martin offers to let him use the cot one night, but only receives a vehement shake of the head. Still, he’s less… overtly condescending now. Who knew it would take getting attacked by a horde of worms to earn his respect?

*****

Martin likes to think of himself as a patient person. It takes a _lot_ to get him angry with someone. But they’re trapped in a room by a woman taken over by _supernatural worms_ , their co-workers are quite possibly dead, and Jon’s _still_ being dismissive.

“Why do you _do_ that?” he demands. Jon stares at him, but Martin’s too angry to care.

“Do what?”

“Push the skeptic thing so hard! I mean, it made sense at first, but now? After everything we’ve seen, after everything you’ve read! I hear you recording statements and you just _dismiss_ them! For God’s sake, Jon, we’re literally hiding from some kind of worm... queen... _thing_ , how could you _possibly_ still not believe?” Jon is still staring. He’d never heard Martin say that much to him without some kind of apology, let alone seen him this angry. 

“I-” he eventually gets out, mouth dry. “Of course I believe. Of course I do. Why do you think I started working here? It’s not exactly _glamorous_. I have…” Jon trails off, suddenly aware he’s never told anyone this before. He’s not even properly admitted it to himself, before now. “I’ve always believed in the supernatural. I mean, I still think most of the statements down here aren’t real. Of the hundreds I’ve recorded, we’ve had maybe... thirty, forty that go on tape. Now those... I believe, at least for the most part.”

“Then _why_ do you-”

“Because I’m scared, Martin! Because when I record these statements it feels... like I’m being watched. I lose myself a bit. And then when I come back, it’s like... like if I admit there may be any truth to it, whatever’s watching will know somehow. The skepticism… it just felt safer.”

“Well… it wasn’t.” Martin regrets the words immediately after saying them. “I mean, it actually makes a lot of sense, it explains why you were always so…” he searches for the right word, but comes up with nothing. “But it doesn’t actually help anything.”

“Yes, well, I see that now. And… I’m sorry, for all the things I’ve said to you,” Jon says quietly. “You don’t have to forgive me, if you don’t want to.”

Martin’s fantasized about hearing that so often that he almost pinches himself before responding. “Of course I _forgive_ you,” he says. “I’m… you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear that.”

They just sit in silence for a while after that, neither of them quite sure what to say.

“Can I ask,” Jon starts, “since we’re clearly doing a whole heart-to-heart thing here, why are you still here?”

“Because Prentiss is out there, and we can’t leave,” Martin says, confused. 

“Not _here_ , I mean working in the Institute. Surely you know being followed by evil worms isn’t part of a normal archiving job.”

Martin considers this for a moment. “I don’t really know, I just am. I’ve even typed up a few resignation letters, but I just... couldn’t bring myself to hand them in. It’s like I can’t move on and the more I struggle, the more I’m stuck.”

Jon’s staring again, this time not in surprise but in confusion. “Martin, are you… I mean… you didn’t _die_ here, did you?”

“ _What_?” he asks incredulously. “No, I’m not a _ghost_ , Jon, I just meant that whatever it is about the statements that’s keeping you here… it’s the same with me. With all of us, I think. A _ghost_?”

“Shut up, Martin,” Jon mumbles with no real bite to it. Absurdly, he starts _laughing_ , and then Martin’s laughing too, as if they’re friends sharing a private joke.

Maybe it’s because of the death threat that Jon’s being so open. Maybe if they get out of this alive he’ll go back to his usual self and Martin will have to pretend this never happened. But maybe admitting any feelings about the statements other than derision was a big step. Maybe if they get out of this alive Jon will be… different. 

_Do I dare disturb the universe?_

“Jon, I have to tell-” _Bang._ _Bang._ The wall shakes slightly with each impact. Apparently Jane had enough of waiting for them to come out, and now she was coming in. “I thought these walls were solid!”

“We don’t have any weapons, do we?” Jon asks frantically. _Bang. Bang._ Visible cracks appear on the wall.

“Not unless you count the corkscrew!” They’re practically shouting, both from fear and to hear each other over the noise.

“Damn. _Damn_. Well, Martin, I guess this is-” _Bang._ The wall shatters in a shower of plaster and tile fragments. Martin squeezes his eyes shut, bracing for his imminent death, only it doesn’t come.

“Hi guys!” exclaims Tim, brandishing a fire extinguisher in an attempt at a wave.


	4. In The Chambers Of The Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they place entirely too much emphasis on a cup of tea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this took me so long to write, but here it finally is!  
> Mild spoilers for S2

_I have seen them riding seaward on the waves_

_Combing the white hair of the waves blown back_

_When the wind blows the water white and black._

_We have lingered in the chambers of the sea_

_By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown_

_Till human voices wake us, and we drown._

Finally, after the tunnels and the trapdoor, after the HAZMAT team and the police statements, they can go home. Well, home sweet humidity-controlled room. Martin should probably move back into his flat. 

Jon, Tim, and Sasha take three weeks off to recover, so Martin has the Archives to himself, mostly. He writes poems in the composition notebook he normally keeps well hidden, and even records a few. 

After two weeks, no worms show up and Jane Prentiss has not somehow resurrected herself, so Martin figures it’s safe to start moving his things back into his flat. 

When the others come back to work, it’s surprisingly… normal. They read statements and do research and pointedly don’t talk about what happened. 

There’s only one thing that’s different, really, and that’s a noticeable lack of yelling. Specifically, Jon yelling at Martin. It’s better than Martin hoped for. 

Martin isn’t sure whether to be annoyed or relieved that Tim burst in when he did. On one hand, he’s probably never going to even get close to confessing again; the wave of adrenaline that comes with a near-death experience is rather hard to replicate. On the other, Tim saved their lives, and also things would probably be quite awkward now had Martin been allowed to finish. Yeah, he’s relieved. 

“So,” Tim says, smiling just a bit too widely for it to be genuine. “What happened between you and Jon?”

“I-I don’t know what you mean,” Martin says, trying not to show how flustered the question made him.

“Oh, you know, he hasn’t complained about your shoddy work or lack of professionalism or general incompetence in what, a week now?” Tim raises an eyebrow. 

Martin sighs. “Nothing like _that_ ,” he answers, just so Tim will stop with that _look_. “We were just… in the safe room for a while during the Prentiss attack, and had a conversation, that’s all.”

“So you’re friends now?”

“Uh… I don’t really know. He apologized, but I wouldn’t really say-”

“Hang on. Jon apologized? To you?” 

Martin blinks. “Yes?”

“You know what this means?” Tim asks, all of a sudden deadly serious. 

“What?”

“You two aren’t completely hopeless after all!” 

*****

When Martin gets back from lunch there’s a mug of tea on his desk, which he’s pretty sure wasn’t there before he left. Tim only shrugs when he asks about it, and Sasha’s still out with her new boyfriend. Maybe he’d made it for himself and then forgotten about it. Except there are still faint curls of steam rising from it.

Martin can only think of two explanations; either Jon made it or some supernatural entity is trying to kill him with poisoned tea. They both seem equally unlikely, and Martin really doesn’t want to bother Jon about it. 

Jon feels more disappointed than he really has any right to when he passes by Martin’s desk and sees that the tea he left him is untouched. Had he made it wrong? He didn’t know how Martin usually took his tea. 

Maybe Martin just didn’t want his friendship. Jon had already treated him badly enough. He wouldn’t blame Martin for wanting to keep their relationship strictly professional. 

*****

“Sasha, I think we’re finally getting somewhere,” Tim muses. 

“Getting somewhere with what?” she asks blankly.

“You know, the plan.”

“Oh, yeah, the plan. It’s… working quite nicely.”

“Do you think we need to do anything else or just leave them at it now?”

“Uh… let’s just leave them.”

She’s probably still a little out of it from the Prentiss attack, right? Nothing to worry about. 

*****

“Jon?” Martin knocks lightly on the office door. “I have those follow-up notes you wanted.”

“Oh. Yes, come in.”

“Here you are,” Martin says, handing over a folder. Jon _thanks_ him, which is new, but Martin doesn’t comment on it, just says it’s no problem and turns to leave.

“Martin, wait.” He looks back at Jon, who isn’t meeting his eyes. “Uh… how do you take your tea?”

“I-What?”

Jon grimaces. “Never mind, forget I said any-”

“No, no, sorry, I was just caught off guard is all. One sugar and cream, but… why?”

“Just curious,” Jon says casually. Too casually. 

“Was it _you_ who left that tea on my desk?”

Jon sighs. “Yes, but… you didn’t like it, did you?”

Martin isn’t the sort to swear, but he very nearly does. “God, this is going to sound so stupid, but I asked Tim and he didn’t know where it came from so I maybe… assumed it was a trap,” he says, too quickly. 

“You… thought it was poisoned,” Jon repeats, eyebrows rising. Martin can feel his face getting hot. 

“I didn’t think it was _you_ trying to poison me!” he exclaims, suddenly realizing what he’d implied. “After the worms, it’s just… _anything_ can actually be supernatural. We’ve got to be careful.”

“I suppose you’re right, but are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Martin brushes away his concern. “Just finished moving back into my flat, actually.”

“Oh. Well, that’s good, then.”

Martin nods. “Anything else you needed?”

“What were you going to tell me, in the safe room?”

Martin’s thoughts quickly turn to a stream of _shit, shit, what do I say now that won’t completely destroy my dignity, oh God_. He laughs nervously. “I-I don’t know what you mean.”

Jon looks at him for a long moment, but eventually decides not to press. People say all kinds of things they don’t mean when they think they’re going to die, and Martin probably doesn’t want to tell _him_ anything important. “I see. That’s all, then.”

“Okay,” Martin chokes out, then almost bolts from the room. 

*****

Martin only realizes he’s left his notebook in the safe room when he reaches his flat for his first night out of the Archives. At least he’d had the good sense to keep it in a cabinet and not in plain sight. Hopefully no one would see it before he could retrieve it tomorrow morning. 

*****

Now that Martin’s moved back into his flat, Jon can finally sleep at the Archives again. They’re no longer being hunted by evil worms, Jon has his spare room back – there’s absolutely no reason for the soft sadness that prickles at his edges when he wakes up in the night and is met by bare walls and silence, the weight of the emptiness nearly crushing him. The blankets tangle around his feet as he scrabbles around the nightstand for his phone. 5:47 a.m. Not quite enough time to get back to sleep.

Jon needs a distraction, something to pull him away from the horrible sense of a _void_ , somehow. He claimed Martin’s constant presence was annoying, but now that he’s gone… Jon misses him, even though he’d never admit it. 

There’s almost nothing in the room, except the cot, nightstand, and some cabinets that just might have books that aren’t _from the library of Jurgen Leitner_. Most of them are bare, when he opens them, except for his own overnight bag and a small, unmarked composition book.

He doesn’t know what he expected, but it certainly wasn’t… poetry. Especially not _love_ poetry, handwritten in Martin’s familiar round print. 

Even if the style is a bit hamfisted, the feelings behind Martin’s words are evident. Jon couldn’t help but remember Sasha’s comment, that whoever receives these poems is… very lucky. 

*****

Martin arrives at work the next morning at 7:30 sharp, and immediately goes to the safe room to get his notebook, but he’s too late. Jon’s on the cot, hunched over, red-rimmed eyes flicking over a page of his writing. Oddly, Jon looks just as embarrassed as Martin feels, stuttering out something that Martin doesn’t quite catch before he fully realizes what Jon must know now. 

“Oh God, I’m so sorry, please don’t get me fired,” Martin blurts, hot humiliation washing over him. 

“What? Why would I get you fired over poetry?” Jon seems to be genuinely confused, and Martin can’t figure out if he’s really this oblivious or just trying to get Martin to dig himself an even bigger hole, so he just stares. “Martin, _why_ are you apologizing?” Jon demands.

“Because they’re about you!” he exclaims, then immediately regrets it when Jon’s mouth drops open in a classic ‘O’. Is _this_ what Martin was going to tell him?

“I mean…” Martin starts, trying to say something, _anything_ that could make this even a tiny bit better, but comes up with nothing. Jon’s still not looking at him, worrying the hem of his T-shirt between his fingers, obviously uncomfortable. “I’ll just go and, uh, request a transfer or something.” That would be best, right? He turns to leave.

“No, Martin, wait!” Jon calls after him, but Martin doesn’t turn around. He’s not sure he’ll be able to go through with this if he does. “I… I can’t write poetry, or even say it properly, but… I feel the same.”

At this Martin at least moves to face him, but won’t quite meet his eyes. “You don’t have to do this to try and make me feel better.”

“When have I ever tried to make someone feel better?”

“The _point_ is, Jon, you don’t have to lie, for whatever reason.” If Jon ever discovered the secret of time travel, he was going to kick his past self. 

“That’s… fair, I suppose. I’ve treated you quite badly.”

“Yeah, you have,” Martin says, with a short, sardonic laugh. “But… remember back in the safe room, when you asked if I was a ghost?”

Jon sighs. “Are you ever going to let me live that down?”

“Behind all that, you _cared_ ,” Martin says. “It was stupid, but you cared, and-”

“I still do.” And now it’s Martin’s turn to be stunned into silence while Jon worries he took things entirely too far. 

“I guess Tim and Sasha were right then,” Martin eventually gets out.

“Right about what?”

“Did they not… try anything with you?”

“No?” Jon says, confused.

“Remember that pub they brought us to?” Jon grimaces at the memory. “Yeah, my thoughts exactly. Tim… he found out about…” Martin trails off.

“Sasha kept asking me about you, too, and I said a lot of things I really shouldn’t have.”

“So then they tried to get us together, that’s why Tim was acting so weird-”

“Is that why Sasha kept trying to talk to me about your love life?”

Martin pales. “She what?!”

“No, no, not in detail or anything, just mentioned that you’d be… a good partner.”

Martin groans and has to resist the urge to hide his face in his hands.

“Well, it worked, kind of,” Jon admits, and Martin looks at him incredulously. “I mean, when I was re-when I saw your poems I was thinking the same thing.”

“You know, I’d never have guessed you’d be this _cheesy_ ,” Martin laughs. “It’s good! Just unexpected.”

“What did they do with you?” Jon asks, not-so-subtly changing the subject. 

“Nothing as elaborate as that, unfortunately. Sasha just told me that you didn’t actually, uh, hate me. Didn’t quite believe it until after Prentiss, though.”

“I never did. Hate you, that is,” Jon says quietly. 

“Well, good thing I know that now.”

“So,” Jon starts. “I mean, uh-”

“What is it?” Martin asks gently. 

“What does this mean?” he says. “Are we…”

“Well, what do you want, Jon?”

“I-No, it’s not _me_ who should be deciding this, Martin, it’s about what you want as well!” 

“You already know how I feel,” Martin reminds him.

Jon pauses for a moment. 

“Would you… want to go to dinner with me?” Martin beams at him, so purely _happy_ , and Jon can’t help but smile back. 

“I’d like that very much.”

*****

**_Ocean, by Martin K. Blackwood_ **

_I stood on the beach, looking out_

_At the ocean, beautiful and terrible all at once._

_I stay well away, keeping dry,_

_Keeping safe._

_The water came up to meet me,_

_A wave reached out, and we touched,_

_And I melted._

_I walk closer, water rising over me,_

_Warm and gentle and pulling me in._

_I’m drowning,_

_Drowning, but I don’t miss the air._

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Come say hi in the comments  
> or on [tumblr](https://stardust-in-the-wind.tumblr.com/)


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